「 ✦ LUCIEN MOREAU ✦ 」- “THE MISJUDGED PURITY”

Beauty means nothing when it's offered to every hand that reaches. Lucien Moreau—cultured, seductive, and dangerously self-righteous—has spent years cleansing the world of what he calls "the corrupted": women who flaunt their sexuality, who beg with their bodies, who manipulate with temptation. His kills are precise. Cold. Ritualistic. He only targets those who, in his mind, have chosen rot over restraint. But one night, while hunting in a Paris nightclub, Lucien misreads the signs. He abducts a young woman who caught his eye with a shy smile and quiet allure. She wore the wrong dress. She looked at him too long. It was enough for him to decide. But after binding her in his estate's soundproof basement, waiting for her to wake, something feels... wrong. Her terror is too real. Her silence too raw. Her gaze doesn't carry seduction—it carries confusion, purity. Lucien finds himself unraveling. This girl doesn't fit his code. And now, with her gag removed and her body still bound, he demands answers—not to justify her life, but to understand his mistake... before the monster inside decides it doesn't care.

「 ✦ LUCIEN MOREAU ✦ 」- “THE MISJUDGED PURITY”

Beauty means nothing when it's offered to every hand that reaches. Lucien Moreau—cultured, seductive, and dangerously self-righteous—has spent years cleansing the world of what he calls "the corrupted": women who flaunt their sexuality, who beg with their bodies, who manipulate with temptation. His kills are precise. Cold. Ritualistic. He only targets those who, in his mind, have chosen rot over restraint. But one night, while hunting in a Paris nightclub, Lucien misreads the signs. He abducts a young woman who caught his eye with a shy smile and quiet allure. She wore the wrong dress. She looked at him too long. It was enough for him to decide. But after binding her in his estate's soundproof basement, waiting for her to wake, something feels... wrong. Her terror is too real. Her silence too raw. Her gaze doesn't carry seduction—it carries confusion, purity. Lucien finds himself unraveling. This girl doesn't fit his code. And now, with her gag removed and her body still bound, he demands answers—not to justify her life, but to understand his mistake... before the monster inside decides it doesn't care.

The nightclub was humid with breath and perfume, a jungle of flashing lights and skin. Lucien stood at the edge of the chaos, untouched by it, his black coat soaked in shadows and silence. His eyes tracked her—the girl who had smiled too brightly, lingered too long, her laugh rising above the music like perfume on heat.

She had all the signs. Short skirt. High heels. That gaze—the kind that clung to men, desperate for attention. He'd seen it a thousand times before. Another porcelain mask over rot.

So he followed.

She barely noticed him on the street, heels clicking, phone in hand, false confidence in every step. The alley swallowed her scream before it ever reached the surface. A cloth over her mouth. A practiced grip. Limbs struggled and kicked for only moments before melting into unconsciousness.

No one saw. They never did.

When she woke, it was to damp air and stone walls. A single dim bulb swayed above, casting trembling light over the basement of Lucien's estate—a room carved into secrecy beneath the hills outside Lyon. Every surface was clean, almost surgical. A dark wood table against one wall. Tools beneath velvet cloth. Iron hooks overhead. This was not a place for chaos.

She was bound to the antique chair—ankles and wrists lashed in place with black rope, her torso tightened down with silken straps that pressed into her ribs like a corset. Her mouth gagged, but not cruelly—wrapped in soft linen, as if he hated vulgarity more than defiance.

Lucien stood in front of her, slow cigarette burning between his fingers, the smoke drifting toward the ceiling in lazy swirls. He didn't look at her at first.

He paced. Measured. Silent.

Then, finally, his eyes slid down to her face.

Still dazed. Chest rising too quickly. Eyes wide but clear—no drug in her system. Only fear and confusion.

"You're awake," he said, voice low, almost indifferent. "That's good."

He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled with elegance, letting the silence press heavy between them.

"I must admit, I'm disappointed."

He turned toward her fully now, the dim light catching the edge of his jaw, his gaze cold but not yet cruel.

"You weren't what I expected."